


Nowhere Man

by LeaderInRed



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Teenlock, nowhere man - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeaderInRed/pseuds/LeaderInRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1964, and Sherlock Holmes is an 18 years old university student. Struggling with paying the rent, the school's principal Mrs. Hudson introduces him to his new flat mate, the Beatles obsessed, and previously abused John Watson. ( Will be rated M later due to sexual content)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**(When reading this chapter, I recomend that you'll listen to the song "Nowhere man" by The Beatles. I listened to it a lot while writing this, and I think it fits quite well.)**

Sherlock opened his eyes, slowly. Then closed them again, not quite wanting to realize that class was starting in less than 20 minutes. He sighed. Yet another class with ignorant students, not capable of retaining even the most basic information given to them. He was in fact was looking very much forward to quit this school. The problem was that he had absolutely nowhere to go. He'd assisted the police in smaller investigation cases to pay off his study loan and text books. A small, plain wooden clock showed that he was going to be late for class. Sherlock got up from bed, pulled on a pair of grey trousers and a white, slightly wrinkled shirt and pulled his fingers through his dark hair that curled up and curly locks looped into each other. His tousled fringe was covering most of his forehead and his tired ice-blue eyes. His gaze was distant, yet somehow sharp.

He took a quick look around his flat. It was quite small, but big enough for Sherlock alone. His apartment was localized in the 3rd floor of the university he was attending. It consisted of a small living room where his bed was placed in the left corner, a bathroom and a tiny kitchen that he rarely used. A big window showed the view of the northern part of London. The school yard was very little appealing, but also other tall buildings could be seen.

His entire flat was filled with school applications, work applications, and other applications that seemed to find its way to his dorm. He knew a huge amount of them was most likely from the police. He yawned and rubbed his eyes before taking long and careful steps across the room to avoid stepping on something. The floor was filled up with different things, as he was too tired to clean them up and to actually have an organized system. Everything from clothes, to his latest science project had found its way to his floor, and never left.

Sherlock brushed his hair and again, let his long and slender fingers feel their way through his dark curls and pulled away his fringe before grabbing his school bag and walked out from his room and walked with determined steps to room 204, where his science class was about to start.

The hallway was almost empty. The white, cold walls seemed like they were in desperate need of a makeover. The teachers had tried to decorate with a few pictures, most of them by the English royalty, something that didn't really make the cold walls any less cold. Most of the students were already in their classes by now, and Sherlock reached for the door handle, and, unwillingly opened the door. Inside the class, Sherlock walked over to his seat in the left corner of the classroom. He had an old and fairly used desk; an old and rather unpleasant chair that matched the desk pretty well was placed next to it. He sat down, knowing that considering his situation, he shouldn't complain, as it surely would be perceived as rude, not that he already had a bad rumor going on about being highly intelligent and rude, two things that weren't among the most popular personality traits.

The students were eagerly chatting on about their favourite bands and movies, which club to visit when the weekend came and most likely more that he didn't really pay attention to. Sherlock on the other hand, sat alone with his book.

The door was opened, and in came a teacher. A rather old man with a thick and bushy mustache that seemed to take up a big part of his face, but he seemed to believe the mustache to be one of his very best physical features, but in return, he had very little, almost no hair, and he wore a plain black suit, and a bright, red necktie. But Sherlock barely paid any attention to the middle-aged man. What caught his attention, was the young man that followed him in the classroom. Sherlock could guess he was about his age; he had blonde, slightly tousled hair and a mop-top haircut. There was something about the young boy that caught his attention. He noticed how he kept looking down, a sign of nervousness and discomfort, most likely also low self-esteem.

The man with the thick mustache coughed rather loud to get everyone's attention. The class stopped whatever they were doing immediately.

"This is John Hamish Watson. He will stay in your class for the next two years." He didn't say more, but showed him to his seat, which happened to be right next to Sherlock. He didn't say anything, but placed his black leather bag on the floor right next to his chair.

Sherlock reached out his hand. John took it with a firm grip.

"John. John Watson." He said.

Sherlock frowned. "interesting… Interesting indeed."

John gave him a confused look. "I'm not quite sure if I understand."

"The name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said with a straightforward voice. "Which room are you staying at?" he continued.

"I don't know yet," John admitted. "The principal, Mrs. Hudson is going to talk to me about it after class."

John glanced at the mysterious young man who sat next to him. He didn't know what, but there was something about him that caught his attention. Perhaps it was his physical appearance, or maybe his mysterious and incomprehensible personality. Come to think of it, how did Sherlock know that he was going to live at the school?

"How exactly did you know that-" he started, but Sherlock seemed as if he had been waiting for just this question.

"Well, you can't go home, now can you? Abusive parents must be difficult; difficult enough to leave your home, or maybe you ran away?"

John gaped, confused. "H-how did you know…?"

"I draw conclusions from observing. It was quite obvious in this case." Sherlock stopped, hesitated for a slight moment. "You're using that jacket to cover up your bruises, am I right?"

John pulled down the sleeves of his jacket, as if they weren't before, afraid that someone might see him for what he was: a victim, a defenceless and weak person.

Sherlock didn't speak with John anymore that school day, but they both quite frequently took a break from their text books to take a look at each other.

When the clock showed 3pm and the class was dismissed, Sherlock picked up his grey, plain school bag and hurried to his dorm. On his way through the hall, he was stopped by Mrs. Hudson who wanted to know how he was settling in his new flat. To that he replied, that he was indeed very happy about the flat, though the rent would be a little too much for him alone to pay.

"That's exactly what I need to talk to you about." Mrs. Hudson said. "I'm sure you've met young Mr. Watson."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I have."

"He's in need of a flat, but need a flat mate, as he can't afford to pay the rent on his own."

"And you want him to be my flat mate." Sherlock finished her sentence. 


	2. Life At School

**(When reading this chapter, I recoment that you listen to Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles)**

John walked nervously through the white, bright hallway that led him to the school dorms. In his arms he was carrying his bellowed collection of vinyl records by The Beatles, who just so happened to be his absolute favourite band. When he was standing outside dorm 221b, he hesitated for a slight moment before knocking on the dark wooden door.

"Enter", a firm, cold voice said. There was no doubt. The voice belonged to none other than Sherlock Holmes. John could feel the insecurity grow as he reached for the door handle. It was Sherlock who was going to be his flat mate for the next two years. In one way, he felt a slight relief, knowing that it at least was someone that he had talked to earlier that day.

"Excuse me" he started, trying to find the correct words for the situation. "Mrs. Hudson told me that I'm going to stay here"

Sherlock glanced at the blond man balancing a huge pile of vinyl records in his arms. "Yes, I've heard so. We'll split the rent." He turned towards the bed. "There might be a few problems though"

"I'll sleep on the floor for now" John quickly replied, not wanting to make any problems. Sherlock quickly returned to his chair, continuing to read his book. John sighed and glanced at the messy room. Though he tried, he couldn't find a single spot on the floor that wasn't covered with clothes and different papers.

"I could sleep at the floor," John said, glancing slightly at his new flat mate. "If there was actually a clean spot on your floor." He looked at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

"Make place" Sherlock replied quick and rather uninterested. With careful steps, John made his way through the room, and next to Sherlock's bed, he was able to find a place that wasn't piled up with all sorts of things.

Like this, the days went by. John had decided to focus mainly on his school work. He had, against Sherlock's will, cleaned the entire apartment, at least enough to find a place on the floor to sleep. Old Mrs. Hudson had promised John to get him a bed as soon as the school's budget allowed it. Until then, he was sleeping at the floor, something that wasn't too different from what he was used to. However, he slept better than he had done in ages. John was glad that he had been able to start a new life here. Even though the nightmares had woken him up, all covered in sweat in the middle of the night, he had been able to focus on something new, and this time useful.

Class was interesting, though his grades weren't all that good. He envied Sherlock his amazing skills in which he called deduction that was among his many skills. He seemed to do well at school. He had top grades, the students all respected him, though the rarely spoke to him. Sherlock didn't think he was as perfect as John believed. He had always been smarter than other people his age, but they never seemed to enjoy it in any possible way. Instead they kept their distance as he was sure that they most likely felt that they couldn't compare their intelligence with his, something that in most cases were quite true. Sherlock had however no need for friends.

He had specified this matter more than once when Mrs. Hudson mentioned that he should try to get along with the other students instead of sitting alone in his room and read all day. Sherlock shook his head as he walked to class. He didn't feel like worrying too much about unimportant matters. As he passed the white hallway, he could see John catching up to him. They exchanged a tired good mornin', and walked together to biology class. The class started as it always did, with a test about the human body, followed by doing tasks from the text book. Sherlock had been reading about the topic several weeks ago.

John leaned over to him. "Hey, Sherlock!" He whispered as he bumped him in the side with his elbow. "John, that was utterly unnecessary" Sherlock answered with his cold voice, but John could see a slight smile on the young man's face.

"Get over it, I really need your help," John said and showed him the tasks from his text book.

"You see, when the antibodies join with the antigens, the killer T-cells destroys the antigens, and signals for phagocytes." Sherlock pointed at a picture and demonstrated as he explained, and stopped through his explanation to make sure that John understood what he was saying.

Before the class was dismissed, the teacher got everyone's attention.

"Also, I'd like to inform you that we will have a very important test in two weeks." He gave the class a stern look. "The grade you get on this test will determine your final grade in Biology."

John's jaw drop as he realized that there was no way that he'd ever pass this class. The students started to talk together, nervously.

"Silence!" the teacher yelled, hitting his wooden ruler at his desk. "I expect you all to do well on this test. The students who fail this test, will not pass biology this year. Class dismissed."

"No, this is not okay", John complained when they walked to their room to start studying. "You're clearly overreacting." Sherlock said. "It's just a test." John sighed. "Exactly, you see that's the problem."

Sherlock suddenly stopped, and looked at John. "I'll help you study."

 


	3. With A Little Help From My Friend

(When reading this chapter, I recommend that you listen With A Little Help From My Friends by The Beatles.)

"It's easy, John. Look here." Sherlock pointed a slender finger at a picture of the human body. John had always struggled with biology, but when Sherlock explained it to him, it felt so different. He liked to be near him, even if it just meant that they were studying together for the upcoming test.

For a while they sat together at the floor, reading. Every now and then John took a few notes from the book. Biology had never been this interesting, but John had some problems concentrating, as his thoughts always seemed to go back to his curly haired flat mate who sat opposite him. He felt a slight discomfort in form of nervousness. This was indeed strange. He'd never felt that way around the other classmates. Perhaps it was Sherlock's personality? He acted cold and indifferent to most situations, though he seemed to be more comfortable around John.

Without looking, John reached out his hand to get his eraser. He could feel Sherlock's fingers gently brushing the top of his hand. John quickly pulled his arm away.

"You can have it first." Sherlock said and returned to his biology book.

John looked at the young man sitting on the floor in a slightly worn t-shirt that was at least two sizes to big.

"Your hand is cold." He said with a sigh.

"I'll manage, don't think about it." Sherlock said without looking up from his book. He knew that if John failed the test, he would fail the entire Biology class. John seemed to be different from the rest of the student. He wasn't ignorant nor did he take knowledge for granted. He was a fast learner, but most important; he didn't judge Sherlock for being different.

Sherlock could feel something around his shoulder. He looked up. John had fetched him a woolen blanket.

Sherlock frowned, confused. "You didn't have-"

"I just don't want you to catch a cold." John interrupted him.

More wasn't said about the matter, but from that moment, the two boys grew closer as friends, and soon they were nearly inseparable.

The night before the biology test, John suffered from yet another nightmare. Memories of his old life, flashed in front of him. He could feel the burning pain as the whip touched his already sore back. He felt unable to breathe as he was hit countless times by his father. Words echoed in his head throughout the dream, words with the voice of his father that told him that he was nothing but a failure, a worthless and a bad excuse for a son and that they would be better off without him.

John woke up, covered in sweat. He was breathing heavily. His heart was beating fast and he couldn't seem to calm down. The nightmares had gotten worse and worse over the past few months. The memories became more and more real, and he couldn't make it stop.

"John?" A dark, tired voice mumbled.

"It's nothing" John whispered due to what felt like lack of air.

He sat like that for a little while, trying to calm down enough so that he could get some sleep, even though it wasn't very tempting due to his countless nightmares.

Little did he know that this was just the start, that escaping from his old life wasn't the same as escaping the memories and the pain.

Still, this situation was different. This time he wasn't alone. He had someone by his side.

Eventually he fell asleep again, this time peacefully.

6am John woke up when a pair of cold hands carefully touched his shoulders.

"John, you're gonna be late for school."

John opened his eyes and rubbed them before he realized how much he had actually overslept.

"You could have woken me up before, Sherlock!" John shouted at his friend as he ran across the apartment for his clothes and school supplies.

"I did. You didn't seem to pay attention, so I didn't bother." Sherlock said. A hint of humor could be sensed in his voice.

"YOU DIDN'T BOTHER?!" John shouted even louder before he stuffed almost an entire banana in his mouth.

"Shall we go?" John said, breathing heavily.

"John… Your shirt is inside out." Sherlock said calmly, trying to hide a smile.

John kept mumbling incomprehensible as he pulled of his shirt and put it on again, this time the right way.

His hair was still scruffy, as he didn't have time to fix it, and the sleeves on his shirt were rolled up, revealing what was left of his bruises and a few scars, but right now he only thought about the test.

They walked through the same old white hallway, through endless corridors before they finally came to their classroom. Luckily for them both, they were just in time for the test.

John gave Sherlock a murderous look as they sat down in the back of the classroom, but Sherlock ignored it. The teacher immediately started the test, so for the rest of the day, neither of them was able to say a single word to the other.


	4. A Study In Amusement Park - PART 1

(When reading this chapter, I recomend that you listen to We Can Work It Out by The Beatles)

John looked blankly at the test result which he held in his hands. Though he didn't say a word, his facial expression revealed everything.

"You did well " Sherlock said while looking at his own test. His score was of course by far the best in his class. One of the boys, who sat on the row in front of them turned around, so that he faced John and Sherlock.

"I guess you passed the test as well, John!" He grinned.

He nodded. "I didn't do it alone, though." John smiled and glanced slightly at Sherlock, though he didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, you had that psychic genius help you out! How did you even convince -"

"I didn't!" John interrupted him. "He offered his help, that's all."

The young man looked at John with a confused facial expression, as if he didn't understand the words John had just told him and turned back to talk to his friends.

John's seat just so happened to be placed right next to a window, and he used a great amount of time looking at everything that happened outside. Come to think of it, he hadn't left the school building in any less than three weeks.

"Sherlock?" John asked, resting his gaze at the young man.

"Yes?" He answered, his eyes and mind still immersed in the book he was reading.

"There's an amusement park not too far away…" He bit his lip, slightly unsure of how to express himself. "I thought that maybe you and I-"

"No" Sherlock said quickly. "I don't see why we should waste money on such things."

"There's something called amusement and enjoyment, Sherlock" John rolled his eyes.

Later that day, John was lying on the floor, writing in his journal, as he always tended to do after school. He enjoyed writing about his days. Sherlock on the other hand, thought this was an utterly strange and unnecessary waste of time. He looked away from his chemistry experiment that occupied most place on his big desk in the apartment.

"Why are you wasting your time with this?" He asked, frowning.

"Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do." John sighed, and Sherlock knew exactly what he was referring to.

"Fine" Sherlock said. "I'll accompany you to this amusement park." He shook his head, smiling slightly.

"It'll be fun" John said. He stifled a laugh as he imagined his cold, rational friend in roller-coasters.

"If," Sherlock said. "If you stop wasting your time on that journal". "Now, that's unfair." John said. "I won't write anything for two weeks"

Exactly two hours later, John and Sherlock was walking down the street on their way to the amusement park.

It was autumn, and the weather was quite cold. Sherlock was wearing a long, warm woolen coat that seemed too big to him. John was wearing a short jacket, a pair of worn jeans and a blue scarf.

"It's good to get some fresh air" John said and took a deep breath to enjoy the cold, fresh air that surrounded them.

"The air is just giving the brain and the body's cells a steady amount of oxygen, which is..." He paused for a moment, looking at John. "It's… nice".

They turned left when they came to an intersection. Boys of their age were driving around in nearly derelict cars with girls sitting next to them. John recognized a handful of them from school. Sherlock just looked forward, as if he didn't quite know how to act or what to say.

"So you have never visited an amusement park before?" John asked curiously.

"No, I thought I made it clear earlier that it's a waste of money, didn't I?" He tried to keep a stern look, but John noticed that he was smiling, slightly.

He pushed him in the shoulder, laughing. "I'll show you what you've missed."

They could see the amusement park as they were getting closer. The lights on the roller coasters and Ferris wheel lit up the park. It was full of teenagers, mostly couples.

When they arrived at the entrance, they paid for their tickets. Stands selling food and drinks were placed everywhere, and huge roller coasters were placed several places around the park where high pitched screams could be heard from the wagons.

"I'd love to try that one first" John said, pointing at a roller coaster made out of wood. It had several downhills that most likely caused weightlessness.

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. "You never mentioned…"

"It's an amusement park, that's what you usually do." John said, though he noticed the uncertainty in Sherlock's voice.

He sighed. "I promised you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." john chuckled and grabbed Sherlock's hand as they walked through the thick crowd.

When they waited in line, Sherlock looked at John several times to ensure himself that he didn't change his mind about this. In fact, he was very much hoping that he would, as he'd never felt the urge to expose himself to this experience. He had, after all wanted to spend time with John, so the situation didn't bother him too much.

It soon became their turn, and they sat down in a red wooden wagon. Sherlock took a deep breath to calm down, though it didn't seem to work. He could feel his heart beating even faster, and for the first time in many years, he felt a slight fear.

In the corner of his eyes, John noticed Sherlock's unease. Everything from his unusual breathing to the countless times he pulled his fingers through his dark, curly locks of hair.

He was holding on to the restraints hard enough for his knuckles to whiten, and John felt a sudden regret for nearly forcing Sherlock to do this, but it was too late for regrets.

The roller coaster started and it went slowly up the first hill, making an unpleasant creaking sound.

John carefully put his hand on Sherlock's, in an attempt to calm him down a little. It seemed to work. He sat still now. He looked away, as if he was embarrassed by something.

John guessed he didn't like to appear as a weak person, though he knew very well that John would never believe he was.

"Don't worry." John said. "You're gonna love it!"

Sherlock had no time to respond, because the wagon was at the top, and for a moment they could see the over countless buildings. The people were small, and the loud music was now just a distant noise that nobody paid attention to. For a few secounds the wagon stood still, and Sherlock quickly let go of the restraints and gripped John's hand before they went down. They caught more and more speed. Happy and terrified screams could be heard from the wagon. John laughed, and to his big surprise, Sherlock was too.

The twist and turns were endless, and needless to say, none of them wished it to end.


	5. A Study In Amusement Park - PART 2

**(When reading this, I recomend that you listen to Sure To Fall (In Love With You) by The Beales)**

The night was close, and the two boys decided to take some time relaxing, and agreed to head towards the Ferris wheel. The sun was about to go down, which caused countless shades of red light to glimmer in the horizon.

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised by the roller coaster's effect. They seemed to cause adrenaline rush, which felt strangely satisfying, everything from the feeling of danger when the coaster reached the top, to the release of adrenaline caused by the downhills, twists and endless turns.

As they took place in their capsule, the staff immediately closed the door, though it was a relief for both of them as neither of them felt the urge to sit in a capsule with someone else.

As John said: "People would talk about it."

Slowly their capsule went higher and higher, making the ground and everyone on it looking smaller and smaller. Sherlock fixed his eyes on the sky. The stars were slowly starting to appear. It was a beautiful sight. He glanced at John who seemed to be just as fascinated by the starry sky.

"My parents" John said suddenly "They want me to quit"

Sherlock kept his eyes at the sky, trying to focus at the stars, but he could feel panic reaching out to grasp him.

"Why"

"Because I like it here." John replied. He sighed, as if this was something that he was used to, getting his life destroyed as soon as he had managed to build one.

"Tell them 'no'" Sherlock said. His voice was firm, determined. He didn't intend to let go of John. He wasn't ready. Being around him had given him an adrenalin feeling slightly similar to the roller coaster. There was something about John that Sherlock just couldn't let go of, at least not until he found out what was happening to him.

"I'll try". John bit his lips, unsure of whether he dared to do so or not. He knew he didn't have the courage. Or did he? Was his life with Sherlock worth fighting for? He knew the answer already, though he didn't want to admit it to himself out of fear.

"I really like the night sky here", he said, trying to change the subject.

"Yes, I've in fact never paid much attention to it", Sherlock said, eyes unfocused as if he was avoiding something.

"I used to read about the solar system a lot when I was younger." He smiled a little.

"Why?" Sherlock asked. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands were folded. He leant forwards.

"Well", John said, hesitating a little. "It's exciting to know what's out there"

"But surely you must know that it's not of importance?" Sherlock seemed utterly confused.

That's when John realized that Sherlock didn't know a single thing about space, stars or even planets.

"Well", John started. "Take the sun for example"

Sherlock said nothing, as he tried his best to pay attention to understand John's great fascination about space.

"If it wasn't for the sun, we couldn't even live on this planet". John looked at the sky, smiling.

"But it does exist, and we do exist". Sherlock said with raised eyebrows. "What's of importance for us must be what's right here. Our knowledge of the universe won't change anything"

"But…" Sherlock said with a low-toned voice. "The stars do indeed shine brighter today", His eyes met John's, and for a few secounds, none of them said even a single word.

John could feel his heart beat faster, not to mention he was more than sure that he was blushing heavily, though Sherlock didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he chose not to mention it. John had never noticed just how pale Sherlock's eyes were before this moment. They were nearly pale enough to be mistaken for white. They were blue as ice, and his usual distant gaze, was now focusing at him.

Sherlock sat completely still, though he could feel his heart beating faster than usual. He could feel nervousness and a strange mix of uneasiness and anxiety as his eyes met with John's. This was something he hadn't felt until just recently, and he couldn't explain what it was. He glanced at his blond flat mate at the other side of the tiny capsule. Following nothing but instinct, he leaned forward, but just as he did, the capsule reached the ground.

On their way home, they were both trying to act as nothing. None of them wanted to, or even dared to mention it to the other, but as they walked through the cold and dark streets of London, their thoughts were still stuck at the Ferris Wheel.


	6. Haunted By The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When reading this chapter, I recommend that you listen to Getting Better by The Beatles

 

John was busy studying for the upcoming exams, and Sherlock was sitting in a chair next to him, checking his notes for any mistakes. Not a single sound, not a single word exchanged, however their relationship had changed dramatically the past few months. John felt that he could see through Sherlock's otherwise cold nature. Sherlock wasn't the warmest of company, but in a way they fulfilled each other. What John lacked, Sherlock had. What Sherlock lacked, John had it. And they had affected each other.

Even though Sherlock wasn't among the most popular in his class, he was now trying his best to act somewhat friendly towards John's other friends. At times they got tired of even being in the same room as the young genius. John could easily see the rage in Sherlock's eyes at times, however he always stayed calm, and that was one of the things that John liked the most about his flatmate. Sherlock reached out his hand and with a pale, white finger he pointed at John's last note.

"You forgot to mention viruses. They are the only living beings without cells." Sherlock's voice was calm.

"Oh" John said. His thoughts were not as present as they perhaps should have been.

He could feel the physical pain in his stomach and for each breath he took, it became more and more difficult to breath. He rubbed his neck in discomfort. Sherlock could easily sense his flatmate's nervousness, but decided not to ask, as he knew exactly what was the matter and even though Sherlock didn't want to admit it, he was bothered by it too.

Sherlock couldn't stand the thought of losing him. It was the one thing in world that he absolutely couldn't go on without. Admitting it to himself felt strange, however he knew it was true. It made him weaker, he thought. But he didn't care.

Three knocks on the door broke the unbearable silence. John felt his heart rate increase, causing adrenalin rush. His brain told him to run. Run, run far away, and never return. And he would if it hadn't been for Sherlock. He glanced nervously at him. He seemed perfectly calm, though he purposely didn't let his eyes meet John's. He wished for Sherlock's calmness to be trustworthy, by cause of him being more scared now than he had ever been in his entire life.

"This is it, then." John said, taking a deep breath. He had kept rubbing his neck, causing it to be sore, but he didn't seem to notice. Sherlock didn't answer, although his face showed a rather grave expression.

"Come in," Sherlock said. His voice was cold, even more so than usual.

The old, creaking wooden door was opened, and a man whose hands were nearly twice the size of Sherlock's slender hands, and even taller than the already tall boy. His face showed a furious expression which made John hold his breath due to the simple feeling called fear. He remembered what had happened before. He remembered the bruises and the cuts, even though he wished more than anything to forget.

"Who are you?" Sherlock demanded to know, though he already knew quite well who he was, and what John hadn't told him about his father, Sherlock deducted in less than a minute.

"I'm John's father." He nearly spat the words, as they were the worst word he'd ever heard in his existence.

"I know that. I was hoping that you'd fill out a few details which I haven't been able to make out just yet." Sherlock said. "Let's try again, shall we?" Sherlock took a deep breath. "Why are you here?"

By now, the old man's face had turned pink, nearly red. His eyes were wide opened and he approached Sherlock. "Don't you dare talk to me like that!" He pointed a thick, threating finger at Sherlock.

"Oh, are you really capable of caring for a child?" Sherlock asked, smiling slightly. He knew he was about to gain the upper hand in the situation.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing whatever pleases me!" the man snarled.

Sherlock pretended to sigh. "It would be awfully sad if someone found out about what you're doing." He let his ice blue eyes rest on the man. "I could easily gather enough information to get you in jail."

Suddenly it snapped for the old man, also known as John's father. With long, determined steps he approached Sherlock, but he dodged easily. However John could barely feel his legs. Moving them was absolutely out of the question. His entire body felt somewhat petrified.

"Someone's got to teach this boy a lesson!" He said with a voice that seemed lower and more threatening each time he used it.

John was easily knocked over the first time he hit him. What only lasted for less than a minute felt more like several hours. It was like everything happened in slow motion. He closed his ears for his father's harsh words, his endless litany of insults. Listening to what he said would hurt too much. The physical pain however, was impossible to escape. The few seconds between the times he felt the hard knuckles smash against his bones felt unreal. It was like he was standing above it all, looking down at his own, nearly unconscious body. Sherlock had managed to call for help, but even before it arrived, he had managed to pull out his gun from under his bed and was now aiming it straight at the middle-aged man.

When talking, his voice was hard and cold as ice. It was nearly trembling with rage. John was immediately let go of, and he fell down to the floor, gasping for air. Huge parts of John's body were covered in blood.

"You're making a mistake, boy" The old man said through gritted teeth.

"I believe that decision is mine to take." Sherlock replied.

Only secounds later, three teachers arrived at their flat, two of which Sherlock already knew from school. Sherlock had immediately let go of his gun and was not sitting on the floor, bending over John's beaten up body.

"I've never liked family meetings anyway." John mumbled before closing his eyes.

Sherlock sighed relieved, relieved because he would no longer have to fear to lose John to anyone.

Sherlock had later that day convinced the school's nurse to let John stay up in their flat. She had of course given in to his request. One of Sherlock's many talents was to make people do what he wanted them to, and he was good at it. The nurse visited him twice a day when she changed his bandages. Sherlock had stayed by his side the entire time, though he didn't admit it. Giving in to a feeling such as affection seemed impossible for someone like him. It was not something he had ever desired, however, there was nothing he could do about it that changed it.

 


	7. Knowing That Love Is To Share

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't uploaded anything for ages, and I'm very sorry!   
> I've been on ane exchange in Japan for four months, and other than that, I've just had writer's block,   
> which have been very frustrating as I want to get on with the story (I know where I'm going with this, just not how to get there).   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though I haven't been writing much for months.

(While reading this chapter, I recommend that you listen to Here, There And Everywhere by The Beatles)

 

«Sherlock» John said with a hoarse voice.   
Sherlock immediately turned around from a chemistry project he had going on, and looked at his flat mate.   
“Sherlock,” John said again, his voice slightly louder this time, though it was just as hoarse as last time. He tried to sit up in his bed. Sherlock had insisted that the teachers should let him move it to the living room “as natural sunlight improves health”, and though the teachers weren’t too happy with Sherlock’s ideas, he knew just how to twist them around his little fingers. In the end he always got what he wanted, and Sherlock knew it.   
Sherlock wanted to keep John close, as he was more or less apprehensive about leaving him alone in the room. He didn’t know a lot about John’s parents, but one thing was for sure. It was more to them than what he could see.   
“I have to go,” John said. His voice was a bit more determined, but still weak. After all, he had been sleeping for nearly three days now.   
“You’re not going anywhere,” Sherlock replied with a stern voice.   
“He won’t stop, Sherlock.” John tried to get up, but pain struck him in his ribs and he gasped for air in an intense moment of stinging pain.   
Sherlock pushed him gently down on the bed again.   
“You’re not going anywhere in that state.”   
John took a deep breath, but remained silent.   
“If you leave, I will follow you” Sherlock murmured as he saw John’s eyes close as he fell asleep.   
Somehow Sherlock was grateful for it. He didn’t want this conversation with John. He knew things would get difficult, and he feared for both his and John’s safety. He had never cared much about his own or most people before in his life, but this time he felt a deep concern, and he didn’t like the feeling of it. 

 

Days passed, and John slowly recovered from the damages inflicted by his father. His face was blue and bruised. Sherlock wouldn’t even let him look in the mirror. John took it pretty easy, though he didn’t like the fact that Sherlock wouldn’t let him be alone anymore.   
When John recovered enough to get out of bed a slight amount of time in the day, he spent it listening to his new Beatles LP record.   
John listened put on a record, and beautiful Beatles tunes streamed from the turntable as he limped across the room to get some more painkillers. The headache was more than he could handle for now. As he filled a white, cracked cup with water, he could hear the door open. He could easily hear it was Sherlock, due to the way he walked: with long determined strides.   
“John!” he heard Sherlock’s surprised voice from the living room. He hurried to the kitchen, not even bothering to take off his muddy boots.   
“The floor” John commented, pretending like he didn’t notice how Sherlock clearly didn’t want him to walk around the flat in his state.   
“Forget about the bloody floor,” Sherlock replied, raising his voice more than intended.   
“Oh, for fucks sake, Sherlock!” John said as he raised the glass to his mouth. He hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was. He then swallowed the pills before putting the glass in the sink, not bothering to wash it.   
As he took the first step towards his bed, his balance failed him, and the dizziness got to him. In what felt like minutes, he swayed before the floor got closer and closer. He closed his eyes, waiting for what was to happen. But he felt nothing but silence surrounding him. He felt no pain, and the floor felt neither hard nor cold. John opened his eyes. He could feel the room spinning around him and he blinked rapidly.   
“I told you so” a profound, yet husky voice murmured in his ear. Sherlock had caught him in his fall, and he was now sitting on the cold wooden floor with his flat mate resting in his lap. John was too tired to push his friend away, if he even wanted so.   
“Don’t” John said, trying to sound dismissive, though his voice barely came out a whisper.   
Sherlock’s long, slender fingers carefully brushed over john’s swollen cheek.   
“What he did to you” Sherlock whispered.   
“Stop it.” John said. Louder this time   
“I can’t… I couldn’t stop it” Sherlock’s voice was trembling now. Either with rage or despair, but John couldn’t make out which was the correct one.  
He took a deep, painful breath. “Don’t blame yourself. I’ve seen worse”   
Sherlock just shook his head and looked at his friend. His first companion and the first person he had cared about to the point where he had completely forgotten how it felt like to be alone, and he didn’t feel like being reminded.   
“It’s my fault” John said, his voice was low and his dark eyes were fixed on Sherlock’s pale blue ones. “I saw him coming towards me, and I couldn’t move”  
“Whenever he approaches me… I feel so weak.” John felt a tear drip down his cheek. He reacted by letting tan hand reach for his face to wipe away the tear, as he felt a sudden shame. It wasn’t like him to cry. In fact, he hadn’t cried for more years than he could remember. As he lifted his arm, Sherlock’s cold, pale hand grabbed it and held it firmly around the wrist.   
He bent down, his face getting closer to John’s as he breathed slowly, but with deep breaths. John could feel his heart beating faster, and he tried breathing as calmly as the man in front of him. He could feel his breath which smelled vaguely of coffee. John closed his eyes and Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the side before leaning in and pressing his lips gently against John’s.


End file.
